Read Online Under the Orange Moon by Adrienne Frances - Free Book Online Page A

papers. His father cited irreconcilable differences. Coward , Ben thought. He wished there was a box for “fell out of love,” “never loved her,” or, more appropriately, “selfish bastard.” That would tell the truth.
    “Mom,” Ben began carefully, “don’t you want this to be over?”
    Ruth caught her breath and stared. “Why now, Benjamin?”  She shook her head in a fit of rage. “After all these years of separation, why now?”
    “It’s like you’ve been divorced all this time anyway. You haven’t even seen him, Mom.” Ben wasn’t sure why he even tried. She wouldn’t see it this way. “This means closure.”
    “Closure?” Ruth’s face flashed with anger. “Oh, I should have known you would agree with him. You’re just like him!” she screamed.
    Ben sat back and sighed. He allowed her to go off; he would be her villain. The real monster was somewhere else, off living his life with his new girlfriend that was most likely half his age, while Ben sat and cleaned up his father’s mess, his forgotten wife.
    An hour later, Ben ran from his mother’s. She took her pills that are supposed to calm her down but seem to put her into more of a zombie state than anything. He would gladly take that over her screaming, crying and blaming. He would be her punching bag forever and he knew this. He was his father’s son and she would remind him of that every day.
    Ben sprinted through the foothills and trails that ran behind his old neighborhood. He had no destination, wherever his feet took him. He was used to the treadmill at his gym now and, as he ran, he found it quite sad how deprived he was of beauty back at school. He never enjoyed the outdoors, the fresh air and scenery. His busy life consisted of school, the gym, the library and his apartment, all indoor facilities.
    He could feel his heart hammering, his pulse racing and the sweat forming. He couldn’t remember the last time he ran like this. It was almost painful, but in a good sort of way. He ran off the anger, the frustrations and, most of all, the guilt.
    Dylan opened her paint box and ran her fingers along the faded wood. She chose her colors carefully as she scanned each jar, just hoping inspiration would travel through her. She loved this spot and all its privacy. It was peaceful, quiet and, most of all, free from her family.
    She pulled her brush and dabbed it against a color, a deep red she mixed only the day before. She loved to play with colors, blending and combining until she found a shade of her own. Her mother’s garage was filled with unused colors. She couldn’t bring herself to ever throw away her past failed concoctions, only because she figured she may need them one day.
    She began her work with a brushstroke and then a line, long and soft. Then another stroke and more lines. More color would come soon enough. Her trance began and she was thoughtfully brushing, curving and lining. She dabbed into the midnight blue; she brushed, stroked and blended. She moved the hair from her face and stayed completely focused on her vision, her dream. Now black, now gray. She felt what she was creating. She was what she was creating.
    She stretched her folded arms above her head and let her eyelids close. The sun beamed down and blanketed her face, warming her lips and cheeks. It was the memory of her vision that she blended together with a longing inside her; allowing it to escape onto her canvas made it somewhat true now. Her vision was as real as it ever would be. She opened her eyes and gave one last touch of black, completing her moment. She stepped back. Paint smeared over her forehead, cheeks and even her hair. With her number two brush in her mouth, she sighed into the breeze and loved her newest creation.
    Footsteps grew closer behind her. She could hear them, a heavy breath added to each quick stride. She turned and stared over the trails that lead to her. She waited for the person to turn through the rocks, shrubs and small cacti